


Dreams

by audioletter



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bittersweet, Deleted Scenes We Will Never Get, Dreams, F/M, Failures at Life, ForceBond, Reylo - Freeform, Space Opera, What Have I Done, forcetime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audioletter/pseuds/audioletter
Summary: They awaken, mid Forcebond.





	Dreams

She feels him before anything. It’s always like that; he waits for her to speak as if he’s afraid of her, when she’s sure in this narrative that’s supposed to be reversed. 

“Can you see the moon?” It’s full, through the bricked window, and she can assume it’s around past the time one day turns to next. Silence. “Of course you can’t,” she sighs, pulling herself up from the rock-hard bed to turn to where she knows he’ll be.

Always the back corner, sun on his face or the evening casting shadows. He’s never been here this late, since she allowed him to connect with her in her private quarters, and his clothing is simple. Pyjamas, she assumes; unassuming and black, of course, and she can't help but laugh.

“What?” It’s defensive and linear. Kylo’s voice is scratchy from sleep, and she doesn’t understand why he’s irritated at her when he woke _her_ up. Then -

“Did this happen -” 

“Yes.” Happen without either of them opening the connection, which wasn’t unusual, but it was the first time to occur while they were both sleeping. 

_“You like bread?” The teasing was natural, moving around each other in the ship’s quarters like they’d done a million times before. “Why didn’t I know this?”_

_“It’s not portions we got in the First Order, Jakku. Ours were simple, made for strength and not cuisine connoisseurs like you.” He smiles, juggling the bread a little from the heat produced by the auto-cooker - the type of smile that breathes life into his tired face, that makes her weak at the knees. He’s a million adjectives she can’t push into a sentence, so she just moves forward and links her arms around his waist and presses her cheek against his chest. He wears less black now - a splash of navy blue, a brown that reminds her of his uncle and father, but she’d never say it aloud because she knows he’s done it deliberately, and they were, after all, his words to say._

_“I dreamt of you”_ , and Rey realises they’re back on Ahch-To, his face a sharp break of black light and precious lamp light.

“You dreamt of me?” 

“You like bread.”

It’s a simple statement, but she feels tears prick at her eyes. She suddenly misses her makeshift home; the flight simulator, the breeze picking up over the sand and, most of all, the lack of responsibility that came with the autonomy of her life before all - _this_.

“I do.”

“You -” he struggles, visibly, and she realises the lack of sleep, the disruption, has made him vulnerable. Open, almost, and she spots a book she can’t read the name of and a cup of liquid she can’t identify. He’s human, after all, and she stays silent as he fights to find words. “...miss Jakku.”

There’s no upwards intonation at the end, meaning it’s not a question. Rey isn’t good with statements; with words that have no room for interpretation. She’s not good with people, and questions should be questions and statements should be statements, so she stands without thinking.

“You don’t know what I miss, nor do you have the permission to simply -” she fights for the words. “Simply _state_ them as fact.”

She doesn’t notice him staring at her, until it’s obvious he can’t meet her eyes for what’s in front of him. She’s never been watched by anyone like this before - man, woman, other being - and it’s both infuriating, titillating and embarrassing. Rey’s forgotten she’d un-bandaged her arms, leaving them bare; her vest on a table and her body clothed only by her undergarments and her cotton covering. 

“Do you - “ and he smirks, recalling their earlier conversation, “have a _cowl_ or something?” 

And it’s here she notices his Kylo’s apple moving; his hands fidgeting - she has the power. It’s intoxicating, in a way, and she sits down on her rock hard bed and hopes Luke doesn’t hear anything. “I’ve nothing. I was sleeping and -” she waves her hand in a way she hopes doesn’t betray her inward feelings “- you interrupted me.”

He looks her in the eyes, and they’re dark. She’d never noticed the colour, but here she does - a hazel green, a pure mix of his father and mother, and she swallows. _This is what she’d read about_ , she thinks. _In the books she’d found in the ships she scavenged, the woman books._

“You interrupted me,” she sighs, pretending she knows what she’s doing and leaning back against the wall, “while I was dreaming of you.”

He fidgets, and again, she sees the human. It’s almost beautiful, and she has to stop herself from thinking further than she understands.

“I dreamt of you. And the Force woke us up.”

“Really.”

“Yes, Really.” He’s frustrated, and she’s pleased.

“Why.” It’s a punishment, almost, making it a statement as opposed to a question, but he deserves it. He sits, his hands bare and she realises she’s never seen him without gloves. Long fingers curling into emotions, not fists - just regular fidgeting; large hands that now grasp for the cup with the liquid she wasn’t sure about, and he drinks.

“Why what?”

She moves, wrapping a blanket around her to move the conversation further as her sleep-dressed state seemed to do nothing but distract him. _A man after all_ , and she allows herself the sick pleasure of showing one shoulder. A warning, almost, that she is a _woman_ , and she points at the cup.

“What are you drinking?”

He seems confused at first, then a half smile. There’s nothing like Kylo when he smiles. It’s the divide between Kylo Ren and Ben Solo, and for a moment, Rey’s heart almost aches.

“This? It’s tea. Just tea.”

“You don’t drink fire water?”

“Only the weak do.”

“And you’re not weak?”

There’s no answer. She pushes, and she knows it’s probably too far. “Your father drank liquor.”

“My father was weak.”

“Was he?” Rey stands now, walking towards - whatever the apparition he was, whatever the Force connection version of him was. “I dream of bread, but what do you dream of, Ben?”

It’s a prick, a sharp jab, and he meets her eyes. “I dream of a better galaxy. I dream of silence, and a perfect, just system.” A moment, and his eyes break the searing connection and he looks, she almost feels, ashamed. “I had to - he needed to - my father…”

It doesn’t go anywhere. Silence fills the connection, and she feels his pain. That was the worst part of these connections - when defences dropped, they could feel each other’s feelings and, although his were rare, they were often raw and devastating.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all she can offer.

Time moves differently when they’re connected, so she can’t tell how long it is until he speaks. “Jakku.”

“Jakku?”

“I’ve never been.” He swirls his cup, then drinks. “Desert. Scavengers. Right?”

She shrugs. “Yes.”

“You’re not like what I’ve heard of those from Jakku.”

“Meaning?”

He stands now, and moves close to what she assumes is the line of their connection. He’s tall, broad; he could encompass her and hold her and consume her tiny frame in one fell swoop. But he doesn’t, he hasn’t; even when she was held hostage and she’d managed to fight back, he’d only showed vulnerable surprise. It’s here where she realises she wants him to - his face angular and beautifully strange, a ruffle of sleep hair and rumpled clothing and she tries not to let it show on her face.

“Why did we connect in our dreams?”

“What did you see?”

“A life.”

“A life?”

He gives her a piercing gaze, one she doesn’t recognise but feels in her gut, burning and churning, before moving away to turn his back to her. “Two children.”

She swallows, a memory of a future she's almost scared of. “Rooms on a neutral ship.”

He laughs, a sound she’s not heard without the harsh, violent tinge to it, and it almost sings to her. “A kitchen, where neither of us are chefs.” A chuckle now, soft. "A home."

“Love,” and she chokes the word out. She’s afraid of his reaction, and pulls up her blanket and wraps her arms around her waist.

“Love.” Kylo leans against the table in his quarters. “My home was filled with it. My mother -” he pauses, looking out the porthole as if he were searching for her - “and my father. Bantering and bickering. He couldn’t cook, and neither could she.” 

“They loved each other.”

“Yes, but his calling pulled them apart.” He doesn’t turn back to her, and she wishes she could see his face. His angular, impossible face, the one she saw -

 _No, Rey, Don't think it. Pull yourself together._ Focus. Reality.

“Is that why you killed him?” It’s out before she can stop it, and his shoulders tense; her heart leaps and her stomach burns with guilt. “Ben, I -”

“I haven’t been called that in a long time.” 

“'Ben'? Surely your father -”

“I haven’t been called that name by someone I dream of. Ever.”

“You dream of…?” She hopes, and she's dismayed by herself.

It’s here he turns to her, that sad, underused smile pulling at his mouth. “I dream of you, every night.”

And with that, the connection is gone.

Emptiness, the moon full; the room and her mind empty.

She doesn’t sleep, because she dreams of him every night too - and for once, she lays and thinks of him instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @spurious for being a beta and a real right good person.


End file.
